I Was Frightened of All Things. Then I Gave Surfing.

IMAGINE OPTING TO take up the sport of golf, just to realize that strolling from the pro shop to the first tee—not swinging a stick, not hitting or tapping or striking free from a sand pit, only walking—requires more muscle effort than you’ve mustered in your whole grown-up years.

That is wave riding. It became clear that what causes paddling a plank so agonizing is not merely the amount of muscle required, but the reality that the essential body parts are pressed into service by ocean athletes and essentially nobody else. Take the levator scapulae. They connect the cervical area to the deltoids; if yours disappeared, you would feel it. But they are meant to be the background crew of the physical world, not the main actors. Sweeping a palm and forearm through the sea while lying on a surfboard is one of the few actions that propel them into the forefront.

What I quickly discovered, during my initial surf lesson, was that my shoulder blades were unprepared for prime time. The same went for my upper torso fibers (which connect my upper ribs and spinal bones) or erector spinae (running straight down my spine). I took ten strokes toward Katie, then tumbled into the ocean.

Overcoming Anxiety Through Ocean Sports

“Alright,” she remarked carefully, once I got there. “Let’s . . . aim for a breaker?” Although I was athletic in my teens, and working as government writer batted leadoff on the government league—the recreational squad of the America—I didn’t expect I’d be on a board. I once threw out my rear hoisting a bag of feline granules; wave riding needed amounts of both dexterity and recklessness that I didn’t possess.

Even worse, I was in my mid-thirties, which is, by surfing standards, ancient. But post the worst time of my life, a phase defined by post-pandemic sloth and low spirits, beginning wave instruction seemed like a method to escape from my decline. More than that, it was a chance to demonstrate to myself that I was still durable, still hardy, still capable to bouncing back at a time when the environment seemed more keen than ever to overwhelm me.

The aspect I didn’t think about was really grabbing waves. My instructor held the underside of my Wavestorm and aimed me toward the coastline. For a minute, she held on of the board and made small talk. Then, suddenly, she focused intensely. I looked over my side, tracking her line of sight. A rising mound of water had appeared behind us.

“Row stroke row!” she called out. I rowed.

“Stand up stand up stand up!” she yelled. I leapt to my feet, waved my limbs as though losing balance on slick surface, and fell into the sea.

The explanation standing on my feet on the shore had seemed straightforward, I now understood, is that it was simple. A young child can stand up on solid surface. On the ocean the slightest misstep—a hand set an bit too far forward; upper body stretched a moment late; a foot planted somewhat off balance—caused a wipeout. If I was fortunate, I splashed into the sea. If I was out of luck, I bounced off my board onto my rear end (or sometimes, just for variety’s sake, my knee and then my tailbone), and kerplunked into the sea.

“Short ask,” I said. “Do you think I’m unusually bad at this?”

The coach considered for a very long time.

“Alright,” she finally said. “People are unique.”

It was just as I’d feared: I wasn’t strong enough for this. I no longer wished to realize I was a secret surfing talent, or to even catch a wave. The sole aim was to stop trying and go home. With a quarter hour left in the class, I began delaying.

“Then,” I said, “you brought up you had a kitten. What is her moniker?”

“The name,” Katie said. A breaker sailed uneventfully past.

“What color is she?”

“Dark.”

“And what kind of name is ‘it’?”

“It originates from a Chinese word, actually. It signifies ‘emptiness.’” A second wave rolled underneath.

“How old is she? Did you adopt from a foster home or a shelter? Is that your initial feline?”

Our lesson would quickly be finished, and seeing the finish, I kept the inquiries coming. “How long did it require you to learn to pop up?” (Some effort. This was unbelievable.) “A relative rides waves in winter. That’s insane, yes?” (She disagreed. This was equally inconceivable.) “Do you need the name of a great local cat sitter?” (No, her sister would watch the kitten if she was traveling. This I grasped.)

Suddenly many things took place at simultaneously.

The coach’s eyes got large. Not am-I-about-to-collapse? obvious. Eager big. In a one {movement|motion|action